


Value me

by tveckling



Category: Romeo And Juliet - All Media Types
Genre: Declarations Of Love, Established Relationship, M/M, Sickfic, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-09-16 13:51:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9274802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tveckling/pseuds/tveckling
Summary: There was something wrong. This wasn’t supposed to happen, not tohim. Not to Mercutio. Other people might get sick, but not him.





	

There was something wrong. This wasn’t supposed to happen, not to _him_. Not to Mercutio. Other people might get sick, but not him.

Tybalt heaved a heavy sigh and rubbed his face. The sickness wasn’t some small, quick thing that disappeared as quickly as it had came; Mercutio had been bedridden for weeks now, and it had been almost as long since he had had a real lucid moment. He woke every so often, but so far no one had managed to get him to realize where he was or who was with him. There was no sign of the fever leaving, and the people had started murmuring about when the prince’s nephew would succumb and fall asleep for good.

It was serious, that Tybalt had to agree with even if it made him taste blood. Never had he—or anyone else, in fact—seen Mercutio so _weak_. He had kept an almost constant vigil by Mercutio’s side for a week now, but he had seen nothing that indicated that the fever was abating. The fever wasn’t getting worse at least, that was what he clung to with the same single-mindedness that had resulted in him almost losing Mercutio two years earlier. 

“You weren’t nearly as far gone back then,” he whispered, the sound of his voice loud in the enclosed room. He glanced up at the sleeping form on the bed, a broken smile on his face. “You survived a wound of such magnitude, surely a little sickness can’t be a match for your stubbornness.”

He let out a shaky breath and leaned back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling. If he concentrated on his own breathing he didn’t need to hear Mercutio’s labored one.

“You swore back then-” Tybalt swallowed heavily and cleared his throat, trying again and hoping that his voice wouldn’t disappear. He couldn’t stand the silence any longer. “You swore, back when I apologized, that you’d keep me by your side so you could make me grovel until you forgave me. You still haven’t said that I am forgiven, you know? So don’t you dare break your word now, not when it was you yourself who decided it. I can’t- I can’t picture a life without you anymore, Cutio. I don’t _want_ to live a life without you in it.” His vision was blurry, but it didn’t get better after he rubbed his eyes with a hoarse chuckle. His throat was aching, but he forced himself to continue to talk. “Was that your plan? To make yourself such an ingrained part of my life that I would eventually take you for granted, and then when you’d leave I’d fall apart? Because if it was then you’ve succeeded.”

Leaning forward Tybalt stroked his fingers across Mercutio’s sweaty forehead—he would have to replace the cold cloth soon—down his face. “I love you, you overconfident, shameless, impossible ass. There, I admitted it. So now I expect you to wake up and gloat at me, you hear me? You better wake up. You have to.”

Of course there was no answer, no reaction at all, in response to his words, but not even Tybalt had expected otherwise—and the little pinch in his chest was mercilessly smothered. All he could do was take the cloth from Mercutio’s forehead and replace it with a new, cold on. And wait.


End file.
